Faint Light
by logica
Summary: A short postBloodlines story.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from 'CSI'. They're not my property.

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The corridors were dark, much darker than he had been used to. Her face did not illuminate in that semi-darkness, it didn't try. Usually it would be glowing, having that feminine, almost magic ability to truly, gradually light up the room. Not this time. This time it was darker; every inch smudged by the thickening absence of strong lighting; her lips closed without pressure, darker than her cheeks. Then, there were those eyes. "Let me take you home," he had offered her. What response did she give? A painstakingly reserved stare, too humiliated to become bold, too muddy for a clear answer to parade across it and give itself selflessly to him. 

Sara did not move but kept looking at him. What could she tell him? What words were sufficient for a verbal response? He did not ask about her state. He chose not to fall from his own pillars of reticent stability and utter a few simple words that would show some tiny feeling of concern, something to ease her humiliation, her mellow annoyance at him, at her. But why would he ask? She was reckless in his eyes, someone that allowed her consummation of alcohol to cross the barriers so strictly set, leaving her guard down and driving, maybe even endangering someone else's life in the process.

She waited… he said nothing more. She stood up. Sara would not apologize to him. She had nothing to apologize for, anyway. Her lips remained closed, the words pushed back, her throat dry, her eyebrows too weak to be crossed. Once she turned, her back felt a warm spot. It must've been his hand but Sara couldn't be bothered to look. The soft tone of his offer ticked gently inside her. Perhaps he cared, but out of professional and maybe, just maybe, friendly concern.

They began walking slowly through the corridor. There was no need to rush. She felt tired. He felt worried. No need to rush at all.

Her back kept feeling the gentle, almost frightful, touch of his hand, and for a brief moment, even a soft caress.

The drive was silent. Grissom chose no questions for now and Sara was only too happy to oblige to it… though, perhaps 'happy' wasn't the best description of her mood. Her eyes would grab onto a motionless car, or a building, hold on to it, and then let it go when it would quickly pull away from her stare. She blinked more often tonight than usual, perhaps because the glaring street light, the intensity of the artificialness was stinging her eyes. She should have rejected his offer and chosen to take a cab instead. Sara was close to such action. Grissom being her supervisor mattered less now than it had in the past, and the durability of her working here seemed more unlikely to Sara. She had the feeling of her brain being replaced with jelly as a barely restrained urge to lean back and close her eyes for maybe a quick nap took over. She chose not to give into that; at least not until she had reached her apartment.

The road was not as busy as anticipated tonight; giving Grissom the chance to look at Sara quite a few more times than he ought to. They spoke about nothing since he saw her barely an hour ago. That wasn't to say that he was uninterested in the reasons, especially as Sara was a good CSI who had managed to give him no professional headaches as some of his other subordinates had managed to do. "Would you like to tell me?" His voice was soft, having no desire to make it rough and sharp giving Sara further reason to continue her silence.

Sara pressed her lips and lowered her head while her eyes did not move away from the passing of time on the other side of the window. She took a deep breath. "Some drink more, some drink less; whatever you do, which ever you choose, it always gets you in a real mess." The last word was accompanied by a short look back at Grissom before her face was turned away from him once again.

He gave another glance. Sara seemed little concerned by this to him. "Elaborate?" he tried.

"No," she replied simply.

"Riddle?"

"One of life's riddles…" her voice barely a whisper.

Grissom chose to leave it there. Sara was not completely drunk, but she appeared not to be in the clearest state either. He would leave the questions for next time, when Sara would feel sober enough to discuss her situation, which Grissom hoped she would be willing to do.

They stopped; Sara got out. Grissom remained in his place while keeping an eye on Sara as she walked away from him and towards the building's entrance. He needed to make sure that she would at least reach her living space safely.

The doors of the building's entrance closed. Sara was inside.

Grissom's stare went beyond that of the window's surface when he sighed. A conversation was terribly needed between them. He started the engine and slowly drove away.

**The End**

Author's note: A special thank you to **Psyched**. :)


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